No Peace in Ithilien
by thisiswhyishouldn'twritefanfic
Summary: Post RotK. After Storms in Middle Earth and Forever Afternoon. A certain elf still struggles to sleep at night.


**No Peace in Ithilien  
Word Count:** 1,390**  
Rating:** T, to be safe, since there are references to past torture and other unpleasant things**  
Disclaimer:** Normally I'm wittier, but... I got nothing. I would say I own nothing, but that's not true. I created the original characters that are driving the plot, so... I guess I own _something._**  
Summary:** Post RotK. After _Storms in Middle Earth _and _Forever Afternoon._ A certain elf still struggles to sleep at night.**  
Author's Note:** So there is a nice, sweet, happy ending for everyone in _Forever Afternoon._ If you liked that and want to hold onto it, don't read this. It will ruin that. However, if I was to start another longer piece to follow _Forever Afternoon,_ this would be a part of it. I guess this is a bit of a teaser, a preview of what might come should I be insane enough to let myself write it.

* * *

**No Peace in Ithilien**

"He is gone again."

"Yes," Nostalion agreed, his voice as quiet as his steps. Legolas had almost missed the other elf's approach, but then he was almost accustomed to that. He knew the assassin to be quieter than most, and he did not like admitting to the deficiency in his own hearing that allowed Nostalion to pass by unnoticed most times, but he did credit the other elf's years of training for that. "You wish to find him?"

Legolas could not answer that. He had tried pushing Varyar for answers in the past, and that had ended with his friend departing for centuries. He did not want that to happen again. Firyavaryar and his family had come to Ithilien for the peace—the _home—_they had been without for most of their lives. Legolas did not want to drive them away from it. He did not know if going after Varyar now would help or harm. Was it better to know that people cared and to see them fuss? No, that did not sound like what Firyavaryar would want at all.

"Will he come back on his own?"

"Perhaps."

Legolas glanced at the assassin, wondering how Firyavaryar tolerated that elf's attitude. He had Gimli, and the dwarf's disposition was often foul, but Nostalion was an elf, and while Legolas had known many that were grave, wearied by time, he had never known one as embittered as Nostalion—not unless he thought of Varyar, though Firyavaryar still laughed, something Nostalion did not seem to do when he was not with Varyar.

"You can find him if he does not?"

Nostalion nodded. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a breath. "He is not far, and he is unharmed."

Legolas smiled, grateful. "Thank you. I know you had no reason to reassure me, to use your unwanted talent for me, but you did, and I am indebted to you."

The assassin snorted. "Varyar and Sérëdhiel consider you their _gwador. _I would not like to have a reason to kill you and upset them both."

Legolas laughed, shaking his head at the elf's manner. He understood now—under those words was—as in the case of a very grumpy dwarf—a grudging acknowledgment of respect. He did not imagine that he would ever be the friend to Nostalion that Varyar was, but he knew that it was not Nostalion's affection for his family alone that stayed his hand. He had seen something of worth in Legolas, and he held back for that as well.

"You are as insane as he is," Nostalion observed with a frown. "Yet he has a reason—he was tortured past sanity centuries ago—you were not."

"I am his friend. Is that not reason enough?"

That almost got a smile from the other elf. "Perhaps."

* * *

"I suppose I should wonder that it was you and not a certain prince, but then I should not because he is not half the tracker that you are, even if he is a wood elf."

Nostalion did not respond. He came closer, sitting down on the rock next to Firyavaryar. Varyar looked back out into the distance. He did not know what he sought out there, nor did he truly believe he wanted to know. Why could he not be content with what he had? His family was safe. They had a home—a true home—for the first time in centuries. They were happy.

He could not allow himself to ruin that.

"Did Legolas think it too noble to come for me?" Varyar asked. He snorted, displeased by his own humor. "Or is he afraid of you and so he did not dare come when you wanted to?"

"You know he is not afraid of me. Nothing would keep him from you as no one would keep you from him. You are _gwedeir."_

"I would tease you and ask if you are jealous, but I know you are not, and I have not the energy for such foolish teasing." Firyavaryar sighed. He rubbed his neck, body aching with the kind of fatigue that elves should only know if they were injured. He was not, but lack of sleep did come to feel the same as one after enough time.

"This is the third night you have left our company," Nostalion observed. "I should, I think, cause you harm for that which you have inflicted on others."

"It was not my intention to cause Sérëdhiel to worry. Or to upset Eruaistaniel as I know I have. I cannot rest, Nostalion. I have tried, but it eludes me. I know no peace, not even in this sanctuary." Varyar looked at the assassin, feeling weaker than he had when he carried a plague within him. "My dreams have long been nightmares. Were that my only distress, I think I would have withstood it better, but I am also tormented by waking dreams. I cannot stop these memories, these thoughts..."

Nostalion looked at him. "What thoughts?"

"The _echil_—I suppose I should not call him that; he is a king now—he told me that I somehow bargained with Ogol to free that _elleth._ Legolas spoke of her to me as well. He thought it would comfort me, but it does not. I have tried to determine what I could have done to free her, but I can think of nothing. I had nothing with which to negotiate, no leverage to use. He would not have let her go when he had me captive. I was able to trade Legolas for my family only because I was not already a prisoner. My life was forfeit to him. Any offspring I might have were forfeit as well, so what could I have used?"

"The children of your siblings?"

Varyar stared at him. "You think I could be such a monster? I know Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion were not married then, had not met you or Alassë, but I could no more condemn a niece or nephew than I could either of them. Do you think I would do that to Tirithon?"

"You mistake me," Nostalion said, though his voice carried anger and warning in it. "I do not. You know I would kill you before you could touch my son. Even if I did not—you are always loyal to your family. You would not do anything that would cause them harm. That does not mean, though, that you might not have leveraged the possibility of it for something immediate. As you said, Sérëdhiel and Idhrenion were not bonded to anyone at the time. They were unlikely to produce children before you could put measures in place for their safety—or ensure that children were impossible."

Firyavaryar grunted. "You think I could render either of my siblings infertile? That is Meligur talking, is it? Is that what he has done in the past?"

"No."

That Varyar did not quite believe, but he ignored it for now. "I could not have promised Ogol my siblings' children as leverage. If I had, I would have made him more determined to have _them._ I do not know how I could have done anything for that _elleth._ There was no bargain."

"You think that your friend and the _echil _were lying? Or do you believe that the lady of the wood was the liar? That this _elleth _she showed Legolas was involved in deceiving him?"

"I do not see why the _echil _would lie, and I do not think Legolas would have lied to me, either. I cannot think of a reason why Galadriel would lie to him, but she may have. I do not know her well enough to say she did not. I _do_ know I had nothing to offer Ogol in exchange for that _elleth's_ freedom."

Nostalion nodded. "And this is what keeps you from rest?"

"No."

"Then what?"

Varyar lowered his head. He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered. "I saw them again. The marks. They were back."

The assassin stiffened. "Are you certain?"

"No. I cannot be. I have not slept in so long and my mind is... unstable, unreliable... I do not know if I can trust my eyes, but if the marks are back, then—Ogol _is_ alive. He must be. And if he is alive, he _will_ come for me."


End file.
